


a dream is not always a dream

by violet_luzon



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Universe, Choking, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Hypersexuality, Light Angst, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Slapping, Smut, Teabagging, Watersports, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_luzon/pseuds/violet_luzon
Summary: He dreams to be insulted and scorned and possessed, only because Mana's dreams are the only wholesome part that surfaces from his filth and he's not worth of having them. Of having him. Of being allowed to hold his memory. Consequently, his mind is a wasteland, where his guilty lust tarnishes pure wishes.





	a dream is not always a dream

Sometimes Allen dreams. Snowy landscapes, untouched by human steps; Mana holds his little gloved hand, leading him through cold alleys while chanting a mysterious song, melodic words that contain a deep obscurity, alluring and destructive.  
  
In his dreams, Mana kisses his forehead and says goodnight, crazed simplicity as the object of Allen's own innocuous imagination.  
  
Mana is a handsome man; not the type people would properly consider _beautiful,_ but the slack nervousness of his brows and the polished stubble are a peculiarity of his charm, one that (Allen remembers, very wrathfully) nobody truly perceived, accepted, or even noticed.  
  
Sitting by an imaginary fireplace, Mana sings, poetry rolling off his tongue in artistic onrush. Pleasant fantasies, black-and-white screens, old soundless comedies. They are soothing dreams, but all that is left are the fragments of Allen's torn heart.  
  
Mana is a star that keeps on burning through his smile; reality meddles with fantasy, and dreams shroud life in a drowsy cloak, numb sensations of a damaged mind.  
  
♤  
Sometimes Allen's dreams are pleasant and pleasurable in a very different way. Manly hands grasp his hips, groping his soft flesh, rough tongues invade his mouth, a forceful grip forces him on all fours, hips cocked up like an insatiable cumslut, made to be taken. Husky praising words, palms kneading his plump ass cheeks, fingers squishing his face, bruising him, appraising him, studying him, semen staining his lips, his chin, his nose, his scar.  
  
Faceless men hit him, spank him, degrade him, leave him. They constantly leave, abandoning him on a crystal floor with his legs spread wide open and his tongue stretched out for another load of cum, his twitching hole waiting for more dick, tears stuck on his bruised face as nothing but a risible adjunctive to his former, irreparable consumption.  
  
He dreams to be killed. Fading out. Flickering away. Slowly, but inevitably.  
  
He dreams to be useless, a wasted puppet, a ragdoll to toss around at one's own sadistic leisure.  
  
He dreams to be insulted and scorned and possessed, only because Mana's dreams are the only wholesome part that surfaces from his filth and he's not worth of having them. Of having him. Of being allowed to hold his memory.  
  
Consequently, his mind is a wasteland, where his guilty lust tarnishes pure wishes.  
  
His dreams are like acts. Everyone watches him, neatly dressed, complimenting his sweet smile or deriding his kindness. They hate and desire him out of selfish urges; he loves and cries and _dies_ but everyone just wants to watch. At first, they talk to him behind black curtains. They call him pretty, quick-witted, dazzling. But in the blink of an eye he finds himself trapped in a blank room: no doors, no windows, _nothing_. His knees touch a colourless floor, he is bare in what he feels like is the center of the room ( _a stage).  
_  
They pet him, they caress his face. He is a ghost in the vapid space, camouflaging himself with something disturbingly ethereal.  
  
Someone starts to fuck his face and Allen's eyes roll to the back of his head in chaotic ecstasy; he is exposed, ugly, cold, beaten and fucked around in his delightful, pathetic (illusory) little one-man show.  
  
Time freezes, his breath stops. The dream ends, quietly.  
  
He is alone, after those creatures fill his holes of their cum. He gazes down, patiently, submissively, placing his hands on his thighs.  
  
Waiting for someone to save him.  
  
♧  
One thing he immediately tells himself once he wakes up is that the one in the dream is _really_ not him, not like him, not at all; the second doubt comes with the realisation that he has just waken up with a morning wood, proved by a bulge in his pyjama pants and by the obscene sweat dripping on his forehead.  
  
His stomach grumbles and he exhales an exhausted sigh, turning on his belly to hump against the mattress. The friction drags a sensual gasp out his throat, and he squishes his face into the sheets to smother the unholy sound.  
  
In a haze, he realises that it is still 4.30 a.m. and that his arousal won't vanish easily, and certainly not by itself. _What a needy slut I am,_ he thinks. Breakfast at 6.30 a.m. will have to wait.  
  
Bucking his hips against the sheets, tucking the pillow between his legs to rub himself against, only one name echoes in his mind. Tyki.  
  
♢  
_Tyki._ The man's name sounds impossibly erotic when Allen whispers it. Exotic. Tyki's voice haunts him like a melody, giving shape to a desire Allen hasn't been able to satiate in the morning.  
  
Whenever the image of Tyki's face, body, cock, pop up in his mind, he tends to sigh and shake his head; undoubtedly, it couldn't be left unnoticed by Lavi's brisk green eye.  
  
"Are you in love?" Lavi questions curiously, draping his arm across Allen's shoulder. An innocent touch, really. But why is Allen on the verge of _bursting_?  
  
"I am not," he says dryly, heading towards the counter of the Black Order's cafeteria, where Jerry always waits to serve him. The whole menu he orders doesn't take too much (even though it's abundant), and at least now Allen has something to distract himself with, even when Lavi follows him around for knowledge's sake.  
  
"Come on, beansprout. I want to know who is it."  
  
"Don't call me beansprout," Allen frowns, elbowing Lavi in the ribs. Sitting by his favourite table with his overfilled tray, he snickers slyly, masking the intolerant mood he is currently in. "Really. There is nobody."  
  
"I know there is," Lavi insists, sitting by Allen's side. He dares to snatch a brioche from Allen's tray, but Allen harshly slaps his hand away. Lavi looks offended for a second, but his usual teasing expression softens his features. "I have an idea about who it could be."  
  
Allen takes a sip from his cup of coffee, then places it on the table, worn-out ceramic clicking on the clean wood. "What are your crazy suppositions?" His brows arch into a scowl, and only after he realises how tense he's become he lets himself relax, feeling the stretch of his features.  
  
Lavi's tone drops an octave, as though they were conspiring. It is extremely, surprisingly low at the word, the simple name, four letters that Allen has moaned at the top of his lungs while his enemy fucked him senselessly, "Mikk. _Tyki Mikk._ "  
  
Allen's mouth opens, sincerely not so surprised. Not even embarrassed, just. Taken aback. How does being in love connect with Tyki Mikk?  
  
"I can't be in love with him, Lavi. That's ridiculous," Allen says, huffing unceremoniously. It's a lie, nothing new. _I can't be in love with anyone.  
  
_Totally, but he likes to gets on his knees and let Tyki slap his face from the right to the left, asking him who is boss.  
  
"You wanted to save him. He follows you around. He _touches_ you in any way he can, without bothering that people can notice his friendly attitude," Lavi explains clearly, as if convinced of his reasonable discourse.  
  
Allen sighs, gulping down the rest of his coffee. "His tendency to touch my head doesn't have to do anything with me being in love," he exclaims, and it is another lie. He likes to be ruffled by him. Tyki has got elegant hands, warm and broad. Strong, but always careful of where to touch and where to squeeze.  
  
Lavi crosses his arms behind his head and the next thing he says doesn't sound like a tease, even though it truly comes across as a taunt. "I don't like the bastard, but you find him hot, don't you?"  
  
The conversation is utterly ridiculous, but the fact that Allen is hard just from hearing Tyki's name is downright hilarious. He blames it on his weird dreams. On the cum he's tasted in his imagination, the cocks he's taken and the loneliness he's accustomed himself with. "He _might_ be hot but his personality is awful," Allen replies, and this time it is a half-lie. Tyki is stubborn, persistent, lazy, _twisted_ , but he's a surprisingly good listener. "And now, I just want to know how you got this idea."  
  
The redhead laughs briefly, a sound of confidential friendliness and explicit suspicion. "You're very obvious, Allen."  
  
♡  
Tyki is his sworn enemy - at least this phrase is what the strict Black Order's morality suggests. Tyki is his lover - not something Allen actually admits or even considers. But Tyki still means something to him, a presence that has wounded and shattered his heart to mark him with a hurricane of passion.  
  
He feels himself burning when a thought of Tyki crosses his mind. Tyki is conflicted between good and evil and there is no pretension in sticking to one direction in spite of the other. He believes that life is entertainment: he doesn't want to miss the show. His golden eyes are the reflection of a humanity that presents itself as more authentic than the truth Allen lives in.  
  
Allen wants to preserve that humanity.  
  
Tyki's hand caressing his face while he submits to Allen's salvation - an ardent memory, fraught with both affection and despair. Allen masturbates and he tries so hard to tear Tyki off his mind; he thinks about strangers, vacuous figures as a mere distraction from his wonders of Tyki. But he can't. He _really_ can't, therefore he ends up murmuring Tyki's name while he cums into his left hand. Staining his Innocence, almost purposefully.  
  
The deed is laughable, but Allen can't concede himself to be amused.  
  
♤  
He dreams again. Mana tells him a story. A princess, a king, magic tricks, mystical creatures. A boy with a piano.  
  
He thinks he'd like to be Mana's princess. It is a harmless statement. After all, he's become Mana's dog for the sole purpose of being _noticed_ by him. He's useful. He's that obsequious.  
  
He smiles. _Daddy_.  
  
♧  
Sometimes thinking about sex is an amusing past-time that challenges his self-control and his acting skills. He eats eggs and bacon with Lavi, Kanda and Marie. He continuously spaces out, wondering, and Marie asks him if he's okay. A ticklish sensation settles in his abdomen. He rubs his legs together, rhythmically spreads them and presses them close as the heat increases.  
  
Kanda glowers, but there is an inquiring look on his face, different from the indifferent expression he wears to show that he doesn't care. Allen smiles sweetly, answering that he's okay, just a bit warm. The swordsman clicks his tongue and resumes savouring his soba (of course he wouldn't eat bacon and eggs). Lavi giggles.  
  
Allen decides he has to take care of his boner before they all shower together in the men's bathroom.  
  
♢  
A new mission in Paris. Allen wears lingerie underneath his clothes. He wants to feel pretty, but the attempt is in vain. White lacy panties frame him gorgeously, a thin string caught in between his round ass cheeks. He destroys the Akuma. He can't breathe. He can't. Something is missing.  
  
Heat stifles him, voices in his head call him a slut.  
  
"Keep your focus, stupid beansprout!" Kanda yells, slicing the monstrous creature before Allen's eyes.  
  
"Yes," Allen says, extremely low. Ache seeps through his bones, his eyelids are heavy. He must be exhausted.  
  
He needs sleep, purpose, love, and a copious amount of sex.  
  
♥  
Allen takes off his coat, pulls down his black trousers, revealing the pair of elegantly trimmed panties. In this exact moment, Kanda opens the door. He raises an eyebrow, gaze naturally dropping on Allen's crotch.  
  
"I've got to pee," he exclaims, throwing him a scathing glance that makes him feel nothing but a lewd prostitute. Under these cold, wolfish eyes, Allen becomes aware of his partial nudity.  
  
"Mhh. Same," he says, as though it is relevant to the situation. Like an excuse. Like a justification.  
  
Kanda grunts aggressively, short-lived patience close to combust into violence. "Then hurry up and don't fucking jerk yourself off."  
  
Allen rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through his white fringe. At the gesture, probably coquettish, Kanda's eyes widen, deep pools fixated on Allen's slim, shorter body.  
  
"What? Should I think that you want to watch me jerking off after all?" Allen mocks, batting his perfect silver eyelashes in the mockery of a seduction.  
  
"I'll chop your dick off," Kanda threatens with a narrow-eyed look, pivoting on his heel and slamming the door behind himself.  
  
With a wearied sigh, Allen reminds himself that they'll have to sleep in the same room and another mission will await them at dawn. No rest warranted.  
  
  
♤  
Tyki waits for him at a cheap inn in Lisbon. Allen climbs the stairs with careful steps and knocks at the last door of the first hallway. Tyki is not very rapid, which makes Allen wonder whether he lets people wait out of spite or out of sheer laziness. He comes to the conclusion that it doesn't matter, anyway. Tyki is an enigma, after all, a beautiful one at that, a man that has the power to confuse and unsettle Allen's emotions as swiftly as he rallies his deadly butterflies.  
  
He finally opens the door after Allen has spent a full minute questioning his choices and his validity, drowning in his guilt and his conscious sin, trembling and expecting and lusting. He shouldn't have come, really. He forces himself to hate Tyki, but there is no real place for disdain in his naive heart - not when their bond runs deeper than Allen ever wants to admit. He'll never say it. But this doesn't mean he can't _sense_ it.  
  
Tyki greets him with a bright smile, sharp sensuality oozing in the masculine perfume that surrounds him. He's washed himself for the occasion, perhaps. "Hey, sweet boy," he says, and the casual word sounds so immensely seductive and fond, signalling a familiarity that shouldn't exist between two enemies.  
  
"Hey," Allen responds monotonously. The white shirt Tyki wears seems perfectly tailored for the muscles of his chest and the broadness of his shoulders. He is staring out of envy, really. Allen perceives his own thinness, boyish features so beautifully soft in front of Tyki's firm jaws and tall body.  
  
"Why so cold?" Tyki laughs, leading Allen in the room, which is both refined minimalism and absolute cheapness. Effortless.  
  
"Why so friendly?" Allen replies easily, scanning the room distractedly. A window that reaches the ceiling, a double-sized bed with white linens and a simple table, where Tyki has placed his precious belongings: cigarettes and gloves and a bottle of liquor. His favourite brand of tobacco is the one Cross dislikes the most.  
  
Tyki responds with a venomous chuckle. "At this point, I thought we were friends rather than enemies."  
  
"At least the first thing we have in common is being able to cheat people out of their money," Allen counters with a devilish smile, his own usually sweet voice coming out his throat as poisonous. "Except that, uh. You've lost against me."  
  
The man pours the rich liquor into his glass, putting his gorgeous dark lips around the crystal brim, looking into Allen's eyes. He takes no offence in the shadiest thing Allen might say; it makes Allen feel more like himself, in some way. "Your sarcasm is the thing I missed the most about you, cheater boy."  
  
Ignoring Tyki, Allen sits at the edge of the bed, hands folded on his lap. The city downtown doesn't breathe. Everything is silent and tense, like quietness before the storm. Tyki takes his time, never tired of playing that game. Pretending not to know how much Allen desires him.  
  
"Do you want some?" Tyki asks, pointing at the bottle.  
  
"I'd rather not," Allen answers, slightly reluctant. "I don't drink."  
  
Tyki scoffs, drinking down his liquor. He trails his tongue at the bottom of the glass to catch which drops are left. Then, he licks his lips, grin so wide and composed. "You'd rather not or you don't drink?" Tyki says, mockery translated into his cocky smirk, "which one is it?"  
  
"Both," Allen glares at him, unfazed. "I don't feel like drinking, either."  
  
If only Tyki knew about his dirty thoughts. About his wet dreams of him, pornographic fantasies. Tyki fucking him doggystyle, slamming his cock against his face, wrapping a collar around him- fuck, Tyki can guess, really. It's just that he wants to indulge a conversation just for the sake of talking.  
  
He puts the glass back on the table and sits by Allen's side, poignant scent invading Allen's nostrils, overpowering Allen's own sugary smell. In his dreams, Tyki smells like sin and temptation, like alcohol and sunlight.  
  
"Oh," Tyki breathes, brushing Allen's ear with the tip of his nose. "Maybe that's because you want to _feel_ what we're going to do. Don't you, boy?"  
  
A grin twists Allen's lips as he tilts his head to the side to face Tyki. He slides his tongue on Tyki's lips, looking at him through his feathery eyelashes. "What if I," he waits, brushing Tyki's lips in the imitation of a kiss, titillating his desire, "didn't want sex tonight?" he lies, and his feminine, seductive tone is enough to contradict his rhetorical words.  
  
Tyki presses a kiss to Allen's cheek with all his unapologetic affection. "I'd want your company anyway."  
  
"Do you say that to all your lovers?"  
  
Planting a kiss to Allen's lips, Tyki smiles cheerfully. "No," he affirms, lips now pressed against Allen's cheek so that Allen can feel his words in all their tender entirety, "only to my favourite baby."  
  
Allen tucks his fingers under Tyki's chin, caressing the smooth shaved skin with his thumb. "Who said I was your baby?"  
  
"You established it," Tyki wraps his fingers around Allen's wrist, bringing Allen's hand to his mouth to press a reverential kiss to his palm, soulful voice ringing into Allen's heart, "the first time you called me daddy."  
  
Momentarily forgetting Tyki's display of affection, Allen sinks his teeth into his lower lip, biting it softly, just to tease. "And who are you to make the rules?"  
  
Tyki shoots him an impressed look. "Ugh, so cheeky," he chuckles softly, pained with desire. "But I guess that's what makes you the naughty cheater boy A."  
  
"At least you're into it," Allen snickers, but he immediately averts his gaze and lets it rest on Tyki's crotch, more thoughtful than mischievous. "Lately I tend to forget who I am."  
  
Tyki places a hand on Allen's waist, gently guiding him to lay on his back. Allen can sense his impatience, his excitement, but Tyki prefers to take his time and take Allen's boots off. He toes off his own dress shoes, finally climbing on top of Allen. "Don't stress yourself," he whispers, breath ghosting across Allen's mouth. The boy can't escape Tyki's magnetic eyes, mirrors of a shocking honesty. "Just be my boy tonight."  
  
Allen slings his arms around Tyki, yanking his hand through his curls. He nods almost bashfully, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Tyki traps Allen's upper lip between his own, a soft slide that makes Allen wet his underwear. He gets harder every time Tyki's tongue swirls around his, nothing more intimate than the air they are sharing. Tyki sucks the tip of his tongue, groaning low when Allen claws into his shirt, expensive fabric the only obstacle that prevents Allen from scratching his back.  
  
Their damp smacks echo through the walls, Allen's wet tongue on Tyki's mouth, erotic gasps slipping past his lips as Tyki drags his lower lip between his sharp teeth. Tyki's mouth is dry and rough, but his lips feel slick and plush against his, thoroughly intoxicating. His kisses show technique, never intrusive but simply mesmerising. Allen could come just from that. From being kissed by Tyki. Considering Tyki's scathing grin pressed against his, he must know the effect he has on Allen.  
  
Allen unbuttons Tyki's shirt, smoothing his hands on the large chest. He traces the wound with his fingertips, chewing on his lip at the reminder of his failure. Tyki looks at him with parted lips, smile fading into a severe, _fiery_ expression.  
  
"Fuck me," Allen whines breathlessly, throwing Tyki's shirt on the floor. He cups Tyki's face with both hands and kisses him feverishly, pursing his lips across his, thumb stroking Tyki's cheek, nose inhaling nervously at the increase of his passion.  
  
"Not yet," Tyki whispers into the kiss, pulling away from Allen's pink lips to bury his face in the crook of the boy's neck, peppering the skin with heated kisses. "That wouldn't be fun. I want to mess you up."  
  
Allen squeezes his eyes shut, lacing his fingers through the wispy curls at Tyki's nape. Tyki's passionate lips bruise his pale neck at each peck, while his skilled fingers loosen Allen's shirt, mouth kissing its way down Allen's throat as he takes the cloth off his shoulders.  
  
He closes his lips around Allen's nipple, sucking it with methodic ease. He sneaks his hand between their bodies, pulling Allen's trousers down his thighs and off his feet. The boy can't hold back his grin when Tyki notices his lingerie, fresh, adorable, pink.  
  
Tyki gazes up, a smile forming on his lips at the discovery. "My boy needs a reward for wearing something cute for his daddy."  
  
Allen shudders, wanton, spreading his legs for the man. "What kind of reward, daddy?" he mutters coyly, fanning his eyelashes and laughing softly, just to drive Tyki crazy.  
  
Tyki grips Allen's waist, flipping him over. "On your hands and knees, meu amor," he commands, and Allen can't help but comply, arching his back like a slut.  
  
He glances over his shoulder, provoking Tyki just _because_ he wants his rage, his violence, the pain he can offer him and the humiliation Allen _craves_. "Like this, daddy?"  
  
He can feel Tyki's smirk on his skin as the man presses a kiss to his nape, smoothing his hand on Allen's ass cheek. "Yes baby boy," he whispers, playfully slapping his butt. He fiddles with Allen's panties, putting them aside.  
  
Tyki's curls tickle Allen's ass when he spits on his quivering hole and shoves his face between his cheeks. Allen moans, slightly throwing his head back, closing his eyes at the relaxing sensation. He reaches behind himself to pull Tyki's hair, suffocating his face against his thick ass.  
  
"Wiggle this cute ass for me, baby boy," Tyki mutters patiently, licking a wet stripe across Allen's pink hole. Allen can feel the man's tongue move in circles, rough and long and perfect, penetrating Allen with the tip, fucking his ass with it.  
  
Allen shifts his hips from side to side, twerking his ass against Tyki's face.  
  
"What a good little slut," Tyki praises, massaging Allen's hole with his thumb. He flicks his tongue on Allen's skin, having the boy's back flex pleasantly at the wet intrusion. "What a good little slut for his daddy."  
  
Allen grips Tyki's curls, abandoning himself to pleasure with a high-pitched groan. Tyki traces Allen's hole with his finger, feeling the stretch, finally pushing it in. Allen feels extremely loose, aided by the fact that he has fingerfucked himself so much lately. Tyki kisses his cheek one last time, then leans against Allen's body, solid chest pressing against Allen's back.  
  
"You're my whore," he murmurs roughly to Allen's ear, thrusting the finger into his twitching hole.  
  
Allen tilts his head to the side, giving him a needy look, brows pinched in a grimace of pleasure, like he's about to cry to have his cock. "Yes daddy."  
  
"You like it, don't you?" Tyki teases, fucking him with a second finger. Allen takes whatever Tyki gives him, like his only purpose is to be Tyki's fucktoy.  
  
Allen nods passionately, stretching out his tongue to lick Tyki's lips. He loves it, keeps shaking his ass for him, opening up for Tyki's big cock. The mere thought of that fat, juicy dick violating him is enough to make him drip, fucking himself back against Tyki's fast hand.  
  
"But this surely isn't enough for a greedy bitch like you, am I right?" a murmur to Allen's ear, long fingers loosening him methodically.  
  
"No," Allen whimpers, biting at his lower lip, as though he can manage to muffle his loud sounds, "of course not."  
  
He wants more, and two fingers are far from satiating him. Tyki pulls them out, nipping at Allen's earlobe. "Turn around. On your back."  
  
Allen collapses on the bed, nerves on fire, a terrible heat settling on his pale cheeks. Even though he is sassy and he's willing to let go _out_ his own volition, acting according to their needs, he receives some kind of indefinable pleasure in letting Tyki control and guide him. He surrenders temporarily to a fantasy he strongly tried to subdue.  
  
He wants to feel _weak_ for once.  
  
It's all a game, including the sweetest baby voice he musters to provoke Tyki. "What are you going to do to me, daddy?"

The grin that blossoms on Tyki's face is different from the previous one; it doesn't announce something safe and easy. "Something you love doing, baby boy," he whispers, a narrow-eyed look that screams _danger_.  
  
Containing his heat is nearly impossible, subjugating his adoration is absurd. He _wants_ Tyki to take him, _wants_ him to hurt him. He watches Tyki undress, licking his lips when the man pulls his trousers down his thighs, palming his cock through his boxers. Butterflies in his stomach, something like _shame_ clasping his heart.  
  
"I know you're starving for it," Tyki purrs, slowly lowering his underwear. His dick bounces out, free from restriction, before Allen's hungry gaze.  
  
There is no explanation for the way Allen's mouth waters other than _he wants him_. "Very," he whines, rubbing his legs together.  
  
"Open your mouth for daddy," Tyki says, deep and perfect and _fatherly_. He places his knees on the mattress by the sides of Allen's neck, holding his head.  
  
Ready to suck Tyki's delicious cock, Allen parts his lips, allowing Tyki to push his cock into his eager, wet mouth. He communicates his ecstasy through a muffled moan, tongue welcoming Tyki's cock, flicking on the slit. He grasps the sheets, pliant and submissive under Tyki's ruthless control. Tyki's thick dick fills his mouth, salty and damp, stiff and long, easily accessing into Allen's throat.  
  
The Noah of Pleasure pulls his hair, thrusting into Allen's mouth. "You should look at yourself, baby boy. You're shameless."  
  
He fucks his throat, forces him to keep his mouth open. Allen breathes in deep, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, dark and hazy. It tastes good, hot and hard, passing past his throat like he's made to eat cock. His untouched erection leaks precum at each snap of Tyki's hips, twitching intensely at the rough treatment. He doesn't have an identity anymore; he is a cumslut, happy to be put to use.  
  
The man looks incredibly powerful, tall and sturdy, maintaining his composure; but Allen knows he's sweating underneath those loose curls, and he _knows_ how to make him moan if he wants to, drawing circles on his sensitive spots with his tongue, flattening it on the tip, or stuffing his face with his balls.  
  
Not casually, Tyki drags his cock out of Allen's mouth and pushes the boy's face towards his balls, his entire length brushing Allen's face, humiliating him, _prevaricating_. Allen reacts with a loud mewl, closing his lips around Tyki's ball to suck the tender skin, hollowing his cheeks to provide intensity and technique to the suction.  
  
Finally, Tyki's grin falters and he exhales a quiet gasp, pressing on Allen's scalp to make him suck his other ball. "You look so pretty with my balls in your mouth, baby boy. So wrecked," he murmurs, rewarding him with a kinder caress to his scalp.  
  
Allen smiles around his ball, grazing his teeth across the flesh. He parts his lips with a pop, groaning at the taste Tyki has left in his mouth. "I'm just a slut, daddy," he replies, and it is ironically the truest thing he ever said about himself.  
  
He doesn't care about being flawless or looking pure when Tyki fucks his face. He is stripped to his animalistic fantasies, the ones that haunt and sully his dreams. He can be free, for once. Nothing but a perverse whore, a set of holes to use and abuse - _nothing else_. And it's _heartbreaking_ when Tyki gets up and puts himself in the previous position, now smoothing his wet cock against Allen's.  
  
"Do you want my cock inside?" he asks, wrapping a hand around Allen's neck.  
  
Nodding, Allen hooks his legs around Tyki's waist and puts the heel of his foot against Tyki's firm ass. "I do, daddy. Give it to me."  
  
"And how much do you want it, meu amor?" Tyki tightens his grip around Allen's neck, fingertips leaving red marks on Allen's frail skin.  
  
Almost driven to exasperation, Allen whines desperately, grabbing Tyki's shoulder. " _Soooo_ much."  
  
"Yeah? I want you to show me _how much_."  
  
Allen can barely speak with Tyki's fingers digging into his neck, but he is hungry and foolish and the mental torture is _so_ destructively pleasant that it makes him drip more precum. "I want it, daddy. You know I do," he insists, furrowing his brows in a grimace of desperation, killing his own pride just for his enemy's dick. "Fuck me, put it in, quick, please!"  
  
Only a devilish chuckle reaches his ears, scorning his disgusting lust.  
  
Tyki slaps his face, rough and derisive.  
  
"I wonder what would your friends think if they saw you throw away your dignity like this. For sex," the imprint of his fingers blooms on Allen's pale face, "I bet the thought turns you on, doesn't it?"  
  
Allen's cheeks stings, but it's Tyki voice what electrifies him. He feels horrid. Worthless. Like the whores that Cross fucks.  
  
Still, it is the most gratifying sensation he's ever experienced in months.  
  
Crystalline tears start to fill his silver eyes, his voice is broken and thin but he's not suffering.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says, sniffing up. He cups Tyki's hand with his own, daring him to strangle him. "Fuck me, slap me, hit me," he raises his voice as Tyki's blasting smirk grows wider, " _beat me up_. But please, please, please," tears roll down his cheek in all their fierce tenderness, "please, just fuck me."  
  
Tyki leans down to kiss his forehead, settling himself between Allen's legs. He enters him with a sharp thrust, providing a stabbing pain that Allen is so masochistically willing to endure. "That's how you get what you want," he says, pinning Allen to the pillow, still with that hand around his throat, cutting off his breath, dominating him.  
  
Allen's eyes roll to the back of his head, like he's about to die and the last thing he's seeing is Tyki, above him, owning him, consuming him, beautiful and merciless and unforgiving. Breaking something _precious_.  
  
The man shoves his tongue into Allen's mouth, engaging in a sloppy kiss that's just tongues and saliva. Allen scratches Tyki's back, carving marks on his hazelnut skin as a counterattack to Tyki's suffocating hand. The man rolls his hips and pounds into him, increasing speed at each new thrust, until he fucks Allen fast, mindless, _brutal_.  
  
Tyki's palm smothers his hyoid so precisely, silenting Allen's noiseless pleas; blood rushes violently, heartbeat thumping into Allen's ears, guiding him into a peaceful haze, like drowning in the ocean.  
  
What would Mana think? Would he weep? Would he pity him?  
  
Would he scold him for the first time?  
  
_Would it matter?  
  
_Tyki's voice, even if muffled, shakes him from his giddiness. "I got you, boy," he groans directly into his ear, pulling his cock out just to slam it back in with unstoppable fervency, "I've got you in my arms," like he's something to possess, like he's safe, and loved, _wanted_.  
  
He wants to be a good boy, he wants to serve a purpose and make daddy proud - so he nods weakly with what little freedom of movement he's left with.  
  
That's when he is on the verge of passing out that Tyki releases his neck and slows down, moving in waves into Allen's slim body.  
  
"Da-daddy," is the only word Allen remembers as he buries his hands through Tyki's curls and throws his head back at Tyki's particularly harsh thrust.  
  
"What is it, baby boy?" Tyki whispers on his lips, hoarse and heavy. He smooches him softly, gripping Allen's skinny hip to push him against his crotch.  
  
Allen doesn't respond, simply because there is no need to. He tries to smile through his moans, taking Tyki's hand with his trembling yet resolute touch. Tyki caresses his face, leaning his forehead against Allen's, as if scanning Allen's soul, as if awaiting his next chance to tear Allen apart.  
  
Gently, the boy leads Tyki's thumb past his lips, sucking it into his mouth. An extent to his own voluntary submission, strong attachment to his issues; he's not letting Tyki win, he never will, regardless of how many things he allows him to do. It's about _him_ and the way Tyki can help.  
  
He closes his eyes and licks the man's thumb, opening his legs wide to take more, get more, letting Tyki's dick stretch him and fill him until he's boneless.  
  
"You're so good for me," Tyki breathes, softer than ever, sealing these words with a kiss to Allen's lips, "so good, you feel so good, so warm. Such a good boy."  
  
Allen finds relief in the praise, like being granted salvation and recognition. He says what he feels like saying, because he's greedy and incomplete and fastidiously horny, and the only thing he _longs_ for is to wipe away his dirty dreams, "I'm close, daddy-so close!"  
  
Instantly, Tyki pulls out and pumps himself one, two, three times so mindblowingly fast; finally, in a bliss, he spills his cum on Allen's crotch, peeing on his sensitive skin. He is Tyki's territory, Tyki's property, shaped and marked, and the vision is so filthy that he comes, too, crying acutely as he stains himself with his own juices.  
  
He can't think of anything else. He can't believe it's all real.  
  
He slides his hands on his body, smearing Tyki's cum and piss onto himself.  
  
"Slut," Tyki mutters; Allen agrees.  
  
♧   
Allen lays into Tyki's arms in the cramped bathtub of their motel room. He rests his head against Tyki's chest, sighing sweetly as Tyki's hands caress his hair, as his fingers massage his bruised scalp with the shampoo, washing it off carefully with warm water.  
  
Allen relaxes under his attentions, even though he reminds himself that he can't stay for long. The Order requires him. His friends want him. The world needs him.  
  
Tyki loves him, but he doesn't bind him.  
  
Allen hates him, really. He hates that Tyki is capable of perceiving his worries and understanding his desires before Allen can. But sometimes, he is the only one that listens instead of talking over or expressing his opinion when it is not needed.  
  
Tyki may be both the criminal and the scruffy gambler; but Allen can _feel_ his maturity, that of a man who doesn't tolerate to be caged in one place. A maturity Allen needs to confront himself with. A confidence and a self-love so sadly unknown to him.  
  
"Sometimes I have weird dreams," Allen says, looking in front of himself. "Crazy dreams. There are men around me. Sometimes, there is Mana. Everything is blank and mute."  
  
He trembles, imperceptibly. Tyki holds him tighter, slinging his arms around Allen's body. Allen's hands cup Tyki's own while he leans comfortably into the man's arms. Safe. Protected. _Listened_.  
  
"I must be exhausted."  
  
He doesn't know why, but he feels like crying when Tyki kisses his nape.  
  
"Nobody can blame you," Tyki reassures, kissing Allen's ear, comforting. "You should take more care of yourself," he caresses Allen's belly, soft fingertips massaging him, a playful chuckle warming Allen's heart, "I don't want to fight with a sleep-deprived kid."  
  
"I hate you," Allen retorts, too tired to sulk. He likes how he feels, with Tyki's long, muscular legs besides his, his slick chest against his back, his arms around him, his velvet lips kissing his neck.  
  
"I just care about your well-being, boy," Tyki says, smooth and sincere. Allen swallows vigorously, unable to consider the value and the genuineness of Tyki's words.  
  
But it's enough. In the fuss of war and hate, it's enough.  
  
Tyki doesn't want much. He doesn't demand anything from Allen.  
  
"Next time you feel needy, you know where to find me," Tyki whispers, pressing his face against Allen's shoulder in what feels like _adoration_.  
  
♢  
He doesn't feel heated. Rather calm, actually. Focused on the incoming missions. He sits with Lavi and Lenalee, eating Jerry's mouthwatering sandwiches.  
  
He feels like laughing, chattering casually about random things; Lavi's pranks, teasing Kanda, fighting for a better future. They are young, strong, courageous. For a moment, he can ignore his needs. He can ignore the way his heart leaps, the way his lungs ache like they did when Tyki choked him.  
  
He keeps having weird dreams. Bizarre scenarios. Mana’s soothing voice.  
  
_You should take more care of yourself.  
  
_He sighs, then munches his meal. Lavi and Lenalee look at him affectionately, as if he's radiating his own warm energy. Lavi knows, and his intense gaze communicates their unique complicity.  
  
He can't be satiated. Stress is too much to handle but he has to give everything he has to protect the world and accomplish his task.  
  
If he wants Tyki, he knows where to find him.  
  
So he smiles at his friends, feeling vulnerable again.  
  
♡  
In his dreams, Tyki sucks his cock. Those blazing eyes observe Allen's tiny details, new reactions, those long fingers grip Allen's thighs, pushing them apart, as he bobs his head up and down Allen's pink dick, groaning at the taste, adoring Allen, pleasuring him.  
  
_You're fucking delicious, darling_.  
  
Tyki rubs Allen's cock against his face, smiling at him perversely. The man reaches between his legs and strokes himself as Allen pushes his face against his dick, lacing his fingers through his curls. Nothing else can compare to the way Tyki’s firm cheeks look when he takes Allen’s dick, licking, sucking, nibbling, moaning.  
  
_Do you like when daddy takes care of you?  
  
_Allen cries, nodding repeatedly with feverish abandon.  
  
_Yes daddy.  
  
_He cums on Tyki's face, not on purpose, really. But Tyki _enjoys_ it, because he cums into his hand and grabs Allen's face with his stained fingers.  
  
Allen licks his cum off his palm, collecting it onto his tongue. He lets out a breathless laugh, eyelashes fluttering shut when Tyki kisses him, like their joined taste is something holy, something _intimate_ and natural and purifying.  
  
They make love, and this time Tyki doesn’t manhandle him. He doesn’t need to. Allen wraps his arms around his neck, crying because it feels right, _crying_ because they don’t have much time and it’s such a _cruelty_ that the man who can see through his soul is at the same time his enemy.  
  
He can’t predict how long it will last. He doesn’t want to know, either. They walk down an unstable path, where time is precarious and entangled in the reality of an endless war.  
  
He doesn’t know if it’s _Tyki_ the one he truly wants, or if he’s a palpable projection of his fervid imagination. He doesn’t know if he’s in _love,_ or if he just wants to _feel_.  
  
But Tyki kisses him, and he doesn’t seek confirmation, doesn’t demand an answer, doesn’t force him to _come_ to a conclusion.  
  
He lets himself be.

The dream ends too soon, and this time Allen is not aroused. Cozy warmth melts his relaxed limbs, and for the first time in months he wakes up serenely.   
  
Light flashes before his eyes, bright and _real._

With renewed energy, he gets up.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this. I hope you liked this mess, comments are welcome


End file.
